Like A Candle
by ameristar
Summary: She let her touch and break her, all because of the love she couldn't avoid.
1. The Noose

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to be you. Maybe I'd find some solace in it; I figure being simple could keep all this pain from ruining me. I find myself getting angrier every day when I walk down those halls. I hear the whispers-they're not about me but I know one way they will be. I see you pushing him down the halls laughing about some stupid joke he said even though you probably don't understand it, and it makes my blood boil under my skin. He doesn't belong with you. I belong with you.

Sometimes when we're in class you look in my direction. I can feel your stare burn holes into the back of my head, but I refuse to turn around. After what I told you, what I _confessed _to you, I can't meet your eyes anymore. The shame I feel, for loving you? It's deep, and confusing, and it hurts more than I think you can understand. Your love is the simplest thing in my life, and even that is complicated. Artie doesn't understand you. I do.

Needless to say I never imagined that you'd be at my doorstep at 3 in the morning, calling me from your cellphone because you're too scared to knock on the door. When I see your name on my cell it makes cold blood run up my spine.

"I'm outside..." You whisper into the phone. I am on my feet now, walking to the second story window to look out at the yard. There you stand, on the sidewalk, waving to me.

"Hold on a second." I say, and I feel exhilarated and scared shitless at the same time. I run down the stairs barefoot as fast as I've ever run, and I get to the door. There you stand, looking down at your shoes like you're scared to be around me.

"Hi." You say. I roll my eyes and grab your arm, pulling you in.

"Are you crazy? It's Tuesday morning and we have school!" Your eyes bulge a little at the realization, right as your mouth says

"I can't sleep." I sigh to myself, right before I realize that my hands are shaking. "Can we go to your room?" You ask, eyes clear and blue, fingers fiddling with the drawstring on your hoodie. I close my eyes for a brief second, trying to take a picture of this moment with my mind.

"Yeah. Come on." I whisper.

You stand in my room like you've never been there before. You look at me expectantly, and I just stare back.

"What do you want to tell me, Brittany." I say tiredly, my hand running over my face. "Do you still love me?" you ask with a hint of sad inflection.

"Nothing has changed." I say cryptically. Your brow knits for a second, and then you touch my hastily made pony tail with gentle hands.

"I like it when it's down." You say. I cover your hand with mine, and put it between us. I'm not comfortable with the touching anymore. Not since... that day.

"I'm sorry, Brittany. I'm tired." My voice is tinted with anger, and you notice.

"I don't know what to do, Santana." You're begging now. "Please Santana, tell me what to do!" I see your beautiful eyes become bleary with tears, and my heart hurts, but I say and do nothing. You begin to sob, and I hold your hands and take you to my bed. You sniffle, looking up at me expectantly, but I just shake my head. I can't have sex with you anymore. It would only turn out to be one sided love making. You wipe your face, begging me with your eyes to let you touch and be touched.

"I can't, Brittany." I mumble, my lips quivering from the sight of her distress. I will myself not to cry. I can't, I'm stronger than that. She holds my face and kisses me, and I let her. It's soft, and searching, and while I relent to her kiss, I also hold myself back. She leans back, looking into my eyes with confusion.

"Why is it not the same?" You ask, bleary eyed.

"Because I love you." I whisper. A warm tear runs down my cheek, and you kiss it away. He doesn't love you. I do.

You begin to kiss my neck, hands running up the thighs of my bed shorts. I don't stop you. I'm not capable of it. You touch me like I'm porcelain, slow, methodical, and you are in control. I've never in my life let anyone be in control like this. Gently you pull off my sleeping shirt, kissing at my breasts and running your short nails down my back. I keen and bend to your touches. Like a candle you light my skin on fire, burning at every touch. He doesn't want you like this. I do.

With your fingers, I begin to shudder. You're inside me now, slowly stroking the flames of my desire with your fingers, beckoning me to feel the touch, not love. I'm not fooled for a minute.

"I'm sorry." You cry as I reach release. "I'm so sorry." I feel your tears hit my stomach and roll down my abdomen. I try to be hard, uncaring. I stare at you with a practiced blank stare.

"You have to go, Brittany." Your eyes open with shock, but I watch as the understanding paints your facial expression. You are complacent. You have realized what you've done to me. You stand, your hands suddenly in your hoodie's pockets.

"I'll see you at school tomorrow." You say absently, and then you head to my door, and, quietly as a mouse, disappear into the dark streets of suburbia. I adjust my clothes, and walk to the front door to lock it behind you. Nobody notices, nobody cares.

He doesn't need you. I do.


	2. A Certain Type Of Darkness

The next night, I'm laying in bed. I don't know why my heart is beating a thousand miles an hour, or why I feel fevered. You're not coming, so why should I feel like you could be right outside my door? I'm obsessing, I need to stop. Needless to say I'm dressed for the occasion. G-string, and t-shirt.

The phone is ringing.

"Hello?"

"I'm outside. Can you let me in?"

I look out the window, and there you are. Goosebumps rise on my skin even though I feel like my skin is on fire. I practically jump down the stairs, modesty be damned. I open the door, and you're not shy this time. You grab me and practically pull me up the stairs. We get to my room and lock the door. You use that opportunity to hold me against it.

"He isn't enough, Santana." You whisper against my lips. My knees are weak, and my heart is hurting despite the fact that you're here, kissing my lips instead of his.

"Please," I whimper. "Break up with him." You act like you don't hear me, and continue to kiss, touch, and caress. I am putty in your hands. Without a word, you lead me to the bed. I notice a theme occurring in front of my eyes. We're back to the beginning; the secret touches, the overwhelming passion. If I wasn't so aroused I'd probably feel insulted.

"I like what you're wearing." You whisper.

"I wore it for you." I croak. It's not very romantic, I'll admit, but for me, it was like I answered the door in a wedding gown. You don't take long to get rid of it. As I lay back, I turn my head toward the clock. You're early-it's 2:30 am.

Then I feel your lips.

When I was about six years old, I went to a cousin's house that had a large pool. I'd never seen a pool so large and inviting, blue water sparkling and seducing me into jumping in. I didn't know how to swim. I tried to stick my foot in, just to feel it's coldness upon my skin, but I tripped, and I was in the pool. I struggled for as long as my 6 year old limbs could thrash about, until I was exhausted. I just lay face down in the water, slowly sinking. The world around me began to get hazy, and fade to darkness. Right then, my cousin jumped into the pool and dragged me out. I took in a deep breath, and I survived. The moment I gave up has haunted me for my entire life. Being with you in this moment, feeling your tongue on my flesh, the loss of control... I feel as if I'm six years old.

"Oh God..." I groan, shaking like a leaf while riding the waves of climax. You lean back, looking at me as if you're saying 'Have I done good?'. I feel like throwing up because I know you just think you're making me happy, not teasing me with impossible promises and transparent acts of love. I'm so utterly helpless, just as you are naive. I put my hands over my eyes, and all I can do is whisper.

"Leave... please." My voice trembles with its intensity. This time you understand, and you kiss me on the lips; my taste is on your tongue. When I raise my hands from my eyes, you're gone.

I get up and walk to a book shelf. There's a quote I remember. I open the index, and once I've found what I was looking for, I flip the pages and read it aloud.

"The guilty one is not she who commits the sin, but the one who causes the darkness." At that moment, I let myself cry.


	3. This Is Your Life

I know I'm stupid. I do. I'm used to the stares, and the weird looks I get when I share my ideas. Nowadays I don't even try. There is one subject I know though, and I ace it every time. Santana. I know everything about her, how she hates black liquorish, and drinks milk with her pizza, and likes to color in coloring books sometimes. I know that she doesn't like to be touched after we have sex, and the fact that she hates it when I look her in the eyes. I'm not smart, but I know that. I think it's all I need to know really.

"So today, Brittany, we're gonna study for our English test." Artie says, and he talks slow like I'm a little kid and I don't speak english. I don't like that. I don't like a lot of things he does. We start studying for our vocab test, and I'm drifting away, thinking of her.

"Do you know what voracious means?" He asks. I shake my head. "It means ravenous, insatiable." I stare at him blankly. He sighs. "It's when you can't get enough of something."

Santana is voracious. I blink a couple times to stop myself from thinking about her more.

"How about surreptitious? Have you heard that one before?" He tells me. I shake my head again. Isn't that world Italian? "It means something secret. Something you got that nobody knew about." I stare at him for a way different reason. He just smiles back at me. I feel my stomach churn.

"Are you okay?" He asks looking really concerned. I stand.

"I don't feel good. I want to go home." I tell him quickly. That's the moment I book it out of the room, and then out the door. Then I realize I left my backpack in there, so I run in there, grab the backpack and then run right out. I don't know why I'm running, since he can't chase me or anything. I can't stand the look on his face when I lie to him.

When I do get home, I take my cellphone off the charger and I call her. I can't stop myself, I have to see her again.

"Hello, Brittany." She answers, and her voice is dull and sad.

"I ran away from him."

"Huh? Ran away from who?"

"Artie." She doesn't say anything for awhile.

"I'm coming over." She says, and then hangs up. My brain is thinking of all these different things at once. I lay face down on the bed, and I just gasp for air. My heart is going to jump out of my throat. I feel like I'm going to die. I don't know what to do when she gets here. I think I'm actually a little horny. I grab a pillow, and scream into it as hard as I can.

When I wake up, it's because she's shaking me awake.

"Wha-huh?"

"You needed help or something, Brittany. I'm here." Santana says. I look up at her, and before I can look away her eyes tell me everything.

"I didn't call you for..." I begin to say. She nods.

"I know."

"Then why'd you come?" I ask quietly.

"Because I needed to see you. I knew it was a bad idea. I should just..."

"NO! Don't leave me, okay? I just... don't go." I stumble over my words. She smiles slightly, I guess because I sound really stupid.

"I don't think we should see each other anymore." She whispers so softly I almost don't hear her.

"Why?"

"Because it hurts me, Brittany."

"It hurts me too." I admit. She sniffs, wiping a tear from her eye.

"Then why do we keep doing it?" She asks, her voice wobbly and weird.

"Because if we stop... I'll die." The words come out of my mouth before I can stop them. I know I'm stupid. Sometimes I forget how much. She leans her head on my shoulder, saying nothing. I hold her because there's nothing else I can do. If I was smart, maybe I'd have something to say.


End file.
